Words You Want To Hear
by Plixs
Summary: A painful short story of Wee Dingwall and his father.


"Come on lad! Don't give up on me!" Lord Dingwall held his son's limp body up tightly against his own. Blood from the young man soaking into his clothes at an uncomfortably fast rate. Wee Dingwall had taken many strikes before hitting the ground for good. Had it been anyone ells, they would have surly died by now. But this was his son bleeding out in his arms. His son.

"...I'm..tryin." Wee Dingwall struggled. Doing everything he could to stay conscious. Rising a hand up he grabbed onto the sling of his father's kilt weakly. Looking up very childishly. Appearing like he had just done something mildly wrong and wanted forgiveness for such actions.

Lord Dingwall quieted himself. "...Course ye' are lad." Forcing a smile. The poor boy was in so much pain and all this moving around only made it worse. If he didn't keep the lad still he'd surely bleed out even faster. Coming to a halt, he lowered them both to the ground. The Lord now on his knees, supported Wee Dingwall's head up in his hand. The other palm remained over the injury. Mostly ceasing blood flow.

Good God Wee Dingwall was a mess. Cuts all over his legs and fists. A rib or two cracked on the inside. Yet he'd always return to his feet. Jumping right back into the heat of battle with wild fist flying and teeth digging into nearly every enemy who got too close. What did him in was the spear stabbed into his gut. He was able to stop it midway threw but it was horribly placed. Nothing vital was hit, making it a painful and slow killing strike.

From their current location, there was no way they could have made it to proper assistance, even on a hours. If the boy had stayed on the ground and cover the wound, there might have been a chance of recovery. But the lad wouldn't stop fighting till his legs gave out.

The Lord looked out to the land around them. Praying for a miracle of some kind. He wanted his son's pain to stop, while at the same time wanting him to pull through. Something. There had to be something he could do. Anything.

"I'm sorry." The boy spoke. Sounding exhausted both physically and mentally. He was apologiesing for everything. May be if he wasn't so weak he could have stopped that last assault, or if he was smarter he would have done something about the bleeding. It was a horrid idea, but his father might not be holding him like this again if he were a different person. If he liked swinging weapons and trained more instead of going off in his head all the time. So many hours of the day he escaped the harsh words of others by day dreaming. He didn't care about them. It was his father that mattered. The only one that matter. Yet here they are. Why couldn't he have been normal? Being like everyone ells would have been so much easier on the old man. Guess he was just selfish that way. "...so sorry Da-"

"You shut yer mouth boy!"

He'd been cut off. His fathers' brows frowning angrily at him. "...But..."

"But nothin! Listen ta' me laddie," Lord Dingwall made sure they were face to face. All Wee Dingwall's strength transferred to his eyes. Keeping them wide open and focused. Slowly his hand fell away as his father went on. "Ya' have nothin' ta' be sorry fer." The man huffed. "I saw ya' out there. Holdin' yer' ground better than anyone I've ever seen. Aye, ye' fell down a fair amount o' times, but tha' never stopped ya' from givin' em' hell back." Lord Dingwall's face softened. "Yer..." Speaking slowly. "Yer ma' boy..."

Wee Dingwall listened closely. It was as if the man before him knew what he was thinking. Speaking nothing but honesty with words he desperately needed to hear.

Finally the Lord brought his son closer, foreheads touching. Growing a hurt smile with tears beginning to fill his eyes. "...An' I am so proud of you."

Everything stopped. The pain, his thoughts, time. It all froze for the boy. Those were the words he cherished. Only mattering when spoken by this father. The one man he's ever looked up to. The only opinion that mattered, and he was proud of him.  
As he was.

Gulping down harshly Wee Dingwall smiled the best he could. Those over grown teeth showing threw his faded red lips. Face holding a cut cross his once rosy cheek. Blue eyes starting to loose their dreamy likeness.

There wasn't much time to think now. It was the last moment of his life and his father was here with him. Wee Dingwall could't leave it silent. Taking in a last deep breath, he exhaled.

"I'm so happy ta' hear tha."


End file.
